


Animal Rescue Pet Shelter

by peachygreen



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: D/s overtones, Dirty Talk, Domestic, M/M, Spanking, copious amount of headcanon, light feeding kink, spoilers for the game up through eriks arc in act 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 14:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachygreen/pseuds/peachygreen
Summary: Someone finally took a hard look at Erik and said, oh, sweetie, let somebody else be the caretaker for a change.





	Animal Rescue Pet Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> sylvando has a villa in this that i just completely made up, though if you ask me its not all that ludicrous after the reveal that he just owns a huge fucking ship lol
> 
> also, i havent aaactually beaten the game yet, so if theres something at the very end that makes this scenario completely impossible, dont tell me and break my heart pls

When Sylvando caught him in the kitchen with his hand in the pantry, he froze Erik with the most disapproving frown the man had possibly ever pointed at him.

“Oh _no_ you don’t!” Sylvando marched up to him, shooing him away from the counter.

Erik cringed, suddenly and keenly aware of what it looked like. He’d only wanted to repay Sylvando for an amazing meal yesterday, in a less... _messy_ way than what he’d done at the table, which was bursting into tears over it. Cooking something himself the next day seemed like the absolute bare minimum. But Erik knew what it looked like, he knew what he _was_ , even though he didn’t need or like to do that anymore-- but truly, he wasn’t-- “I wasn’t stealin’ or nothin’, Sylv.”

Sylvando blinked down at him. “Honey, I never thought you were.” A random admission like that from anyone else would instantly raise suspicion-- but darling Erik looked so miserable, that he could be nothing but innocent. That statement came with some meaning of its own to unpack, but right now Sylvando was on a mission, and that mission was to make sure the boy got it into his silly head that while he was under this roof he was going to _relax._

“I want you to turn around and march your butt back to bed.” Sylvando, although wearing a smile, nonetheless ordered. “It was very cute of you to try and wake up before me to cook breakfast, but I will strap you down if you try that again.”

Erik crossed his arms. “What’s the big deal?” He muttered, though already his downcast eyes spelled acquiescence. For his entire stay so far in the cavernous rooms and tall hallways of Sylvando’s villa (his _villa, unbelievable--_ it was as stupidly opulent as his ship, and Sylvando had introduced it in conversation to him as a _little shack in the country)_ despite all the space, he had not had a single second to himself. Not that Erik was getting sick of it-- actually, it hadn’t even become mundane yet, it hadn’t chipped away even a little at the dreamlike bliss of Sylvando taking him home and doting on him.

“I won’t be able to sleep anyway,” He argued tokenly, with the last of his steam. “I might as well make myself useful, right?”

Sylvando tilted his head at him, considering. “You may read in the library until breakfast is ready,” he finally said.

“Sylv...” _Stop treating me like a little kid,_ Erik intended to say, but somehow, he couldn’t get the words out.

“No pouting.” Sylvando reached out and pinched his cheek. “If you really must do something for me in return... well, I’ll tell you all about what I want when we sit down to eat. For now, go run along. And honey, I swear to every itty bitty leaf in Yggdrasil, so help me if I catch you even straightening a bookshelf!”

“I got it already...” Erik rubbed his cheek once it was let go.

Sylvando couldn’t help but notice he let himself be pinched, though, for as long Sylvando had wanted to pinch him. What a good, good, _good_ boy, and he wanted nothing more on earth than to reward Erik like good boys ought to be, but these things couldn’t be rushed into. But he could do this: “I promise you, Erik, while you’re here you are going to relax. Do try and enjoy it,” Sylvando said, and leaned down to kiss him.

Erik melted near instantly into the fingers brushing his jaw, his petulance all gone. His eyes fluttered back open after the chaste press. “Okay, Sylv.”

It was like music to his ears. Sylvando couldn’t stop himself from ruffling that wild hair, so dear to him.

 

* * *

 

When it came time to fetch Erik, Sylvando strode confidently to the library, knowing, and finding himself to be correct, that Erik would do exactly as he’d been told.

He was sitting in one of the armchairs immersed in a book, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Given that it was a light novel intended for grade school children, “immersed” was maybe the wrong word, but he seemed concentrated on it all the same. In fierce battle with it, more like. His legs were crossed on the coffee table.

Sylvando cleared his throat with an exaggerated _ahem_. “No feet on the table, darling.”

Erik nodded, clearly not listening. “Hey, Sylv, what’s this passage saying? I can only understand every other word...” He admitted miserably.

Seeing the dear look so frustrated with himself made Sylvando’s heart pang. Considering Erik’s circumstances, his utter lack of formal schooling, and limited access to necessary materials growing up, it would be the farthest thing from fair to compare him in this regard to a person in Sylvando’s position, where being raised as his father’s son in Puerto Valor meant he had received the best private tutors that money and prestige could buy. It wasn’t fair, and Erik was the only one who kept doing it.

But though he’d known his fair share of doting, so too did Sylvando know the importance of discipline. No matter how sad and cuddly his little friend looked.

Sylvando leaned over the back of the chair, lips by Erik’s ear, so that he’d be sure to hear him this time. One of his hands landed gently on Erik’s shoulder. “If those feet aren’t back on the floor where they belong in three seconds, young man, you will earn yourself one _mean_ spanking.”

Erik jolted, drawing his legs in and, to Sylvando’s notice and delight, tensing with a full-body shiver. “Yeesh!” He whipped his head around, craning upwards to stare at Sylvando. “O-Okay, okay! ...Sorry?”

“Apology accepted.” Sylvando batted long eyelashes at him cheerfully. “Now then, what were you asking about a passage?”

Erik shook his head to collect himself, as if shaking off something physical that Sylvando’s words had left lingering on him. It was embarrassing enough, all this, without investigating the possibility that Sylvando’s “threat” had been even the slightest bit serious. Erik felt stupid enough, thanks.

Nearly everyone else-- Veronica, Serena, Hendrik, and of course Sylvando-- were well-read, not just averagely so, but exceptionally educated. All had rigorous studious backgrounds. Eleven was something of a soft exception-- Erik had seen his country bumpkin roots with his own eyes-- but he seemed to be a naturally voracious reader, beelining to practically any bookshelf they ever came across and making up for his average formal schooling with above-average enthusiasm (even if he obviously favored books that were about smithing.) The only true exception, apart from himself, was Jade. She had spent the better part of her life on the run with Eleven’s grandpa, after all.

But however much common ground they might’ve shared, Erik couldn’t risk talking about this to Jade. Until very, _very_ recently, he’d thought he couldn’t risk talking about it to any of them. They were his friends, he respected them, and this whole thing was just... too shameful.

Erik knew sorely, embarrassingly little in the realm of scholarly-type... stuff. He knew less books than he could count on one hand. A couple of rune books, brittle and plundered from some ancient tomb, written in some dead dialect of Snifleheim, tossed at them carelessly because it wasn’t gold or jewels, were all him and Mia had growing up. Through sheer force of will they had, with years of perseverance, managed to decipher the patterns of symbols enough to cohere meaning. Somewhat. He’d learned some earth spells that managed to work, at least.

But it was a pittance by the rest of the world’s standards, and Erik was painfully, painfully aware. He sighed again, and held the book so that Sylvando could see where he was failing.

Sylvando’s eyes flicked to the page, but they soon returned to Erik’s face. He must’ve looked as hopeless as he felt, because Sylvando shook his head. “Why don’t we take a break?” He smiled. “I’ve got a lovely spread laid out. Let’s go, darling, while it’s still hot.”

“What, you can’t read either?” Erik joked quietly. “I thought I was the only one.”

“Oh, Erik, sure you can read. Read my lips: we are putting some food in your belly before you turn sideways and I completely lose sight of you.”

The “spread” was a veritable banquet. There was golden runny eggs, jewel-like gourmet jams, silky steam rising from cinnamon oatmeal, but Erik had already promised himself not to overreact at a meal again. Yesterday had been completely out of left field-- he wasn’t a starving orphan, for pete’s sake, and hadn’t been for many years. And once he’d found some friends to travel with, it was a dramatic improvement over traveling alone; Erik had enjoyed being reliably able to eat every day, at the very least a simple root stew or some wild game spitroast, and at times some truly exotic cuisine from all throughout Erdrea. But facing a meal prepared for him, laid out for him, made with him at the center of its intention, had shocked Erik into some kind of off-kilter state, and he’d scared the pants off of Sylvando by losing his cool and crying over it. That had been yesterday, but it wouldn’t be today.

“It’s meant to look pretty, but it’s meant to be eaten too, you know.”  Erik snapped out of his thoughts--

\--catching himself in the middle of standing and staring blankly at the table. Sylvando looked amused at him. Erik said, “Sorry-- got lost in thought.”

He sat down, but before he could get into anything, Sylvando got his attention by gently holding his wrist down. “Just one teensy thing, darling. Do you remember what I said?”

“Er...” Erik cocked his head, thoughts whirring. “Oh-- about something I can do for you? You said you’d tell me when we sat down to eat.”

“Very good,” Sylvando praised. Then he didn’t say anything else. For a long moment, Sylvando just let  the silence claim the air. He picked up a silver spoon to crack the peak of a soft boiled egg sitting pretty in a porcelain holder, and Erik assumed that the time to eat was now. He reached for the toast.

Sylvando gently urged his hand down again.

Erik looked at him, perplexed, and a touch wary. It seemed irrational to think Sylvando was going to deny him food that was right in front of him-- it would run counter to everything he knew about his friend-- but Erik found himself bracing for it all the same.

“I want you to eat your fill, honey.” Sylvando’s words sounded low, deliberate. “And I’d like it very much if you would allow me to feed you.”

Erik blinked, with round, round eyes. “...Feed me?”

“Yes, my little parrot.” Sylvando’s pointer finger touched the tip of Erik’s nose playfully. “Feed you.”

“Why?” Erik blurted.

Sylvando’s eyes twinkled. “Because. We’ll both enjoy it.” He now held up a spoonful of the perfectly runny, custardy egg yolk. “Will you give it a try?”

Erik’s eyes flitted from the spoon and back to Sylvando’s gaze. Sylvando watched the gears turn in his clever little head. Slowly, cautiously, Erik raised his chin and parted his lips.

Sylvando fed him with rapt attention to the bloom of his mouth, the peek of his teeth, the pink of his cheeks and the darling shyness of his expression. He clearly didn’t know what to make of Sylvando’s request at all. It was fun to watch him try and puzzle it out through sheer effort, but what Sylvando wanted most of all was for him not to think at all, to just let his needs be taken care of.

“--Three stood inside my tent, and I could see five more outside. I was treated to the rudest awakening, and the frontmost one-- nice and bulky, handsome dimples, but an unfortunate hairline-- demanded I hand over all my valuables, and had the cheek to point a Heliodorian knight’s stolen sword at me. Have some fruit, Erik.”

Erik opened his mouth, almost absently, attention captured by Sylvando’s story.

“I say, take what you want, but please, oh, leave me my deck of cards. I hold it up in my hand, oh please, it’s worth nothing to you. But to me, there is nothing I love more than this deck of cards.”

“Weren’t you dead asleep on a cot a second ago? Where’d you pull a deck of cards from?”

“From under the cot for moments like these. Hush.” He fed Erik another peach slice. “They want to know what’s so special about the deck of cards. Gentlemen, I say, you have to see it to believe it. So I have them draw cards from my hand, and--”

“Hold on. They just willingly dropped their weapons and got close enough to-- _mmfh.”_

“Oh, they were suspicious, alright.” Sylvando withdrew the fork from Erik’s mouth, just as swift as he’d stuck it in. “They had me turn my sleeves out and, well, reveal everything short of everything, I blush to admit, before they felt confident enough to take the cards. They even passed cards to the ones outside. I had them all memorize their card, and I told them to visualize it on fire, burning to cinders in the location of their saddest memory. They must recall every detail of that memory, of that place, or it wouldn’t work.”

“And then what? Did it work?” Erik leaned forward, alight with curiosity.

“Oh yes, it worked. They were concentrating so hard that their eyes closed shut. I lifted the bottom of the tent and slipped out, ran away with my money, and treated myself to a night at a nice inn and a whole new wardrobe to nurse the stress on my heart.”

Erik enjoyed the story. Sylvando enjoyed his laughter.

A drop of peach juice trickled from the corner of Erik’s mouth. Sylvando took his face in one hand and wiped him gently with a cloth napkin in his other. Erik’s shoulders were more relaxed now, he noticed with satisfaction. Now, when he brought a forkful to Erik’s mouth, he anticipated it and opened up for him easily. When Sylvando brought a berry up to his mouth, Erik accepted it right from his fingers. Sylvando reveled in the brush of Erik’s bottom lip on his thumb, in another sighting of those white teeth. Erik had the most charmingly sharp little canines.

Soon, Erik began to shake his head. “M’full.” He murmured, turning his face away.

“Oh, but you’ve almost eaten all of your smoked ham. Can you finish it all for me?”

This got Erik to give in and open his mouth again, and then Sylvando gradually sneaked in bites of french toast along with it. Once Erik was chewing the last of the ham very, very slowly, that was what Sylvando held up next.

Wincing, Erik swallowed. “Sylv, I can’t.”

Sylvando simpered. “But honey, it’s just this last plate. You’ve already almost finished it. If you don’t, I’ll have to throw it out.”

Erik seemed to not want that either, and hesitantly parted his lips again, letting Sylvando take cheerful advantage. He wanted to keep going, to be truly honest, but he didn’t want to make Erik genuinely sick. Without his explicit consent, anyway.

“Hey, at least let me do that,” Erik fretted when Sylvando began to clear the table.

He started to firmly dismiss the notion, but Erik was surprisingly insistent. “Sylv, I just... don’t like... treating you like my slave. Or something.”

Sylvando stilled, a wave of tenderness swelling within him. He looked at Erik with understanding. “Let’s do it together,” he said. That cleared the storm clouding Erik’s expression.

...Until it came time to put away the clean dishes on the highest shelf, that is. Sylvando smiled broadly at him, making not one move or offer of help.

“Sylv,” Erik said flatly. He gestured up at the shelf. “C’mon. I don’t want to have to stand on one of your fancy chairs.”

Sylvando swayed on his feet. “Ask me nicely to be your slave, and I’ll consider it.”

“ _Jeez!_ ” Erik clapped a hand over his forehead. “You _really_ don’t have a filter, do you?”

His hand lowered from his face. Sylvando was still swaying, smiling at him, patient as can be.

“C’mon,” Erik said, a little more whiny this time. “Can you... do it... for me? Please?”

Sylvando tilted his head at him. Then his smile grew, and he said, “Oh, darling, how could I say no to you?”

He glided past Erik to the plates, and on the way, his hand ghosted a path from his collar bone, along the line of his throat, under his jaw, and finally the tips of his fingers bid soft farewell to his chin. It happened in a second and seemed to last hours. Erik’s head turned, lead by his hand as if magnetized, mesmerized. Then it was over, and Sylvando acted like his attention was on putting away the plates.

“By the way, dear,” He spoke with his back to Erik, deceptively casual. “There’s no rule that says doing these things makes me your slave. If you prefer, consider me a caretaker.”

 

* * *

 

The earliest time Erik could remember it starting, ironically, was from when he got amnesia.

It felt odd to think back on that time, now. Even though he’s had all the blanks filled a long time since (to the best of his knowledge, anyway-- and that was a scary thought Erik preferred not to dwell on) he remembered what it was like to be unmoored from himself, floating without a buoy, staring helplessly in all directions and recognizing no landmarks, only impenetrable uncertainty. He was always hungry, he was always cold, he had no idea why, and he had nothing to look forward to beyond today’s struggle to survive. He didn’t even have a name of his own until stowing away on the ship that turned out to belong to his closest friends.

Once he was _Erik_ , suddenly, he was more than a ravenous, nameless animal. It was surprisingly important to have a name. Additionally, he liked the feeling of being in the right place, of doing something _right_ for once. These strangely nice people (as he thought of them, back then) also provided him with food and board without demanding anything in return. It was a definite improvement, a turning point. But it was still a dark time in Erik’s life.

He’d always tried to stay beneath notice. In any room, he stood further away, feeling safest in the corner with two walls at his back and every occupant and doorway in his view. No matter how much he tried to disappear, however, everyone seemed somehow constantly aware of him, and it was simply impossible to feel comfortable while feeling so _seen_. But he was scared to be alone, too-- when he was, he couldn’t help the irrational thought that they’d all gone and left him stranded, for whatever reason, just sailed away on another boat without him. But when they were around, he couldn’t stop waiting for the mask to slip, for someone to finally turn on him with the anger that had been simmering under the surface all along.

Most of them left him alone, seeming as confounded by him as he was by them. There were two exceptions. The youngest boy of the group seemed quite tender towards him, and Erik got the sense they had been close. But the boy seldom ever spoke, though there seemed to be much he was saying with his eyes that Erik couldn’t understand. The other was a tall, loud, bright, cheerful man who talked near constantly, and said the most baffling things sometimes that it was the only moments when Erik was more confused than uncomfortable.

It was funny. In the very beginning, Erik had been practically glued to Eleven’s side. When Sylvando had first come along, Erik had been wary of him, mistrustful of his overly friendly demeanor. The “second” time around, however, when the slate had been wiped all clean, those few weeks had seen him growing closer to Sylvando than anyone else-- even Eleven.

At first he especially avoided the bigger members of the party, the ones who looked the most dangerous if it came down to a fight, out of simple self-preservation instinct. But in his own way, Sylvando took every opportunity to make him see his strength as something to seek shelter under, not to feel threatened by. He spoke kindly to him. He shared personal stories and jokes with Erik to tether him to a sense of belonging. He gave him clear instructions when Erik felt lost. It gave him something to cling to during that tumultuous time. Erik never really forgot those feelings towards Sylvando, even though he remembered everything else. From the way Sylvando seemed to look out for him ever since, he must’ve never really forgotten, either.

All of that got folded up neatly and put away as soon as he’d screwed his head on straight again and remembered there was a whole world to save. It was no time to be thinking about himself, so Erik had put it all away. It had been out of sight, out of mind for so long that he had honestly forgotten about it.

Now, with Sylvando tutoring him in material he should’ve been taught ten years ago, he was reminded of the feeling he had known when he hadn’t known anything. He felt secure, he felt safe...

“I feel like a moron.” Erik stared tiredly down at the text. It was some story about a man, thinking he’s a knight, running around and fighting windmills, thinking they’re monsters. He could imagine that it was a selection straight out of Sylvando’s own childhood education, being about knights and chivalry and... things.

“Hush, sweetie, you’re doing fine.” Sylvando was quick to assure him.

“You’d say that no matter how I was doing,” Erik grumbled. It was an almost identical exchange to the kind of squabbles him and Mia got into back in the day. The only difference was that he was now being the petulant one, and for once somebody else was being the patient one.

“Positive reinforcement not your cup of tea, eh? Alrighty. I’ll just punish you severely for every little thing from now on.” Sylvando teased in a light tone.

“I’m shaking in my boots.” That was another thing Mia used to always say, dry as a leaf and, Erik’s certain, with a heart that wasn’t beating half so quickly as his own right now.

Sylvando winked at him, and Erik’s face got just a little redder. He cleared his throat, “Listen, can we switch to reading something else for a while? Preferably something from this century.”

Sylvando took it gracefully with a shrug, and left to pick out something else, disappearing behind the shelves in the depths of the huge library. Sitting alone, Erik suddenly got an idea. A stupid idea.

It wasn’t entirely like him to be rude deliberately. Maybe he was just in a mischievous mood, a spark of something fueled by boredom and sexual tension. Maybe he’d been thinking too much about what Sylvando had said earlier. Or maybe this felt like an opportunity to do something novel, something he’d never been able to safely try before: testing authority.

Carefully, he crossed his legs on the table.

After doing it, he watched the space between the bookshelves. It was empty for the longest time. And then it wasn’t anymore, with Sylvando’s tall height and broad shoulders filling its frame.

Sylvando stood there, meeting his eyes. His gaze was cool, unreadable, appraising. He seemed to understanding everything about what Erik was doing and why and what he expected to happen in the span of a millisecond, grip tightening just a little on the book in his hand.

Before Erik could blink he was stalking forward, erasing the distance between them, slapping the book he held on the table by Erik’s boot. Sylvando loomed over him, one dark eyebrow elegantly arched.

He couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t intimidating, say it didn’t make a part of him want to concede quickly, but what he wanted more was to _push it_. Shoving nervousness aside, Erik grinned crookedly, showing off sharp canines.

It was the final straw that had Sylvando yanking him to his feet, wrenching his hood around his unyielding steel fist. Erik hissed in surprise, not expecting Sylvando to actually invade his personal space so roughly like that, and so quickly.

“You know what you did, don’t you?” Sylvando purred.

Erik let out a small, breathless laugh, adrenaline pumping. “I didn’t do nuthin’, Sylv,” he tried.

“Nothing, hmm?”

The pull on his shirt went slack, and Erik had just realized the hand in his hood was gone when it struck next at his hair, gripping him and tipping his head back. Erik gasped, spine forced into an arch, staring up at the taller man with wide eyes. His chest was heaving breaths-- out of surprise more than anything, because Sylvando wasn’t really gripping hard enough to hurt him. But it was still effective; Erik fell silent when Sylvando pressed, “Care to dig yourself any deeper, dear?”

The moment stretched taut. “No?” Sylvando prodded.

Erik had never been in this role-- never while he wasn’t seeking the path of least resistance. Once again, his mind fell back on what Mia might do.

He stuck his tongue out at Sylvando.

He knew that instant that he’d caught Sylvando off guard, and that it’d been the right thing to do. He knew it even though Sylvando’s face stormed over, his lips pressed into a thin line, and the grip in his hair tightened exponentially, actually smarting something bad now.

“Cheeky,” Sylvando observed. Then he went around the low table, dragging Erik by the hair to stumble after him, over to the modest couch on the other side where he’d been sitting and kindly coaching Erik not two minutes earlier.

In one fluid movement he sat down and threw Erik down over his lap, wrenching his arm behind his back for insurance that he would stay right where he wanted him. It tore another sharp inhale from Erik’s mouth-- it wasn’t excruciating, but it was at the tender limits of how far his shoulder could go, making struggling very uncomfortable.

Erik tried it anyway, tugging his arm with a good honest effort, and felt a heady sense of satisfaction when it was completely fruitless, and then a gasp of squirming delight when Sylvando pulled it up even farther.

“I don’t need to tell you how astonishingly naughty you’re being.” Sylvando actually sounded genuinely cross with him. “What happened to my mild-mannered little Erik from a moment ago? Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Before Erik could even think of what to say in response, he was jolted by the back of his thigh being delicately traced by a hand. He went completely still, staring wordlessly at the couch cushion.

Sylvando’s hand spread slowly, leaving a trail of warmth through the fabric of Erik’s pants. He felt fingers start to creep under where the long hem of his top began, around mid thigh.

“Nothing? That’s just as well. The time for pretty pleases has long passed, dear.” The hand spreading and gripping his thigh was incredibly distracting. Suddenly, Sylvando squeezed the sensitive flesh _hard_ , and Erik flinched in his grasp.

“So, you’ve decided to be a bad boy?” Erik groaned from the hard, sustained pincer grip, leg kicking reflexively. “Do you need a little pain to calm you down, and then you’ll be my good boy again?”

He finally let go, and Erik was more certain than anything that he had a bruise there now. He panted into the couch cushion, the fingers of the arm in Sylvando’s grip clenching and unclenching.

The sense of powerlessness and anticipation was getting him drunk. There was no other explanation for why Erik’s hoarse voice suddenly decided to say, “ _Hah--_ to hell with you.”

It felt amazing to say, and his inebriated grin spread wider when the hand on his thigh stilled, and silence rung from above him. His delight and fear swirled into an intoxicating mess as he waited.

The _smack_ to his ass jolted his spine; even though he’d been expecting it the entire time, he couldn’t prepare for how it actually felt. “ _Ah--!?”_

“I hope you’re prepared for how much disciplining you’ve earned yourself, sweetheart.” Another slap through his clothing. He was more prepared this time and kept from letting a noise out, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut. Sylvando _tsked_ and pushed the long hem of his shirt up, letting the folds gather around the sash on his waist, so there was no longer anything protecting him but the rather thin cotton of Erik’s pants.

He hit even harder this time, and then again. Erik struggled against the sting, and had his arm wrenched again for his insolence. He was panting audibly now, like a dog.

Sylvando’s hand came down gently this time, spreading over his clothed cheek and kneading appreciably. Erik couldn’t stop himself from a quiet moan, melting into the couch and the warm lap under him. He heard a low laugh from somewhere over his head.

“It’s so tempting to forgive you when you do that,” Sylvando crooned. “Squirm all cutely. That must be why you’re so spoiled rotten.” A brutal _smack_ punctuated the statement and Erik was taut as a wire again, chewing his lip to stay quiet.

Sylvando seemed to want to change that, because he hit harder, and harder, and _harder._ Erik gasped and his breath locked in his throat, air trapped in his chest or else he couldn’t breath enough of it, heaving with big obvious shudders. It was starting to actually _hurt_. Starting out, it had been more about the impact, the surprise, the emotion, but now it was all of those things and a stinging that seemed to be doubling in intensity with every single round.

“ _Sylvando,”_ After one too many destructive smacks he accidentally let it slip, a tiny and shaky plea.

The onslaught paused. “Hmm?”

Erik’s pulse beat in his ears. He rubbed his cheek against the couch, trying to arch his back to take some of the rising ache out of his shoulder joint. “Sylv, c-c’mon alread-dy.”

“Hm. Not convincing.” He hit him _again_. Erik squeezed his thighs together, sucking in a harsh breath.

Sylvando switched to squeezing and kneading his ass once more, making him go absolutely boneless. It was exhausting to stay so tense all over when the hits were coming.

“Oh, you adorable boy.” It felt so good. Erik thought he might be drooling onto the couch, and hoped it wasn’t visible. It felt really, really good. “This hurts me more than it does you.”

He felt fingers on the bare small of his back and froze. His eyes grew wide. The fingers played with the waist of his pants thoughtfully.

Sylvando’s touch felt warmer than ever before on his bare skin, but Erik’s stomach sank into a cold well. The noise from his throat was an almost genuinely terrified one. He felt fear, sharp, bright fear, and the only thing keeping the word _stop_ from leaping off the tip of his tongue was that if he said it Sylvando might actually stop, and Erik was enjoying this too much to want that.

“ _Please,_ ” is what came out instead, high and tinny and breathless.

He pulled on his loudly complaining arm again, shooting sparks of pain that were coming close to actually intolerable, and that was when Sylvando finally decided to release his grip on it. Erik’s liberated arm scrabbled on the couch, warmth and buzzing spreading to the tips of his fingers as it finally got relief.

With his freed up hand, Sylvando settled his new grip, leisurely and firmly, on the back of Erik’s neck. Like scruffing a kitten. He squeezed tight enough for Erik to feel like one.

Then he tugged down Erik’s pants in one swift motion, and bore down pressure on Erik’s neck when he pushed back in startled response.

It turns out, Sylvando had never really needed to hold his arm captive to keep a hold of him. Even if Erik pushed with both his palms against the couch, he couldn’t lift his head against Sylvando’s punishing grip. The man had never exactly looked weaker than him, anyone with eyes could attest to that, but Erik was shocked by just _how much_ stronger Sylvando proved to be.

Deliriously, he thought back to breakfast when Sylvando had delicately tapped the peak of a soft-boiled egg, and wondered how the hell the thing managed not to explode.

“Shhh,” he heard. He must’ve been audibly whimpering. He felt that large hand palming his bare ass, and the warmth was overwhelming, but unlike before he stayed tense. He couldn’t relax knowing what was about to come.

The hand was gone, and Erik squeezed his eyes shut because it was coming. His shoulders were bunched to his ears. He sucked in air, trembling, nails digging into the cushion. His mind was blank of every thought but the anticipation of the hit, the bloom of fear, helplessness. It was coming. It was coming. It was... was it coming?

Sylvando’s laugh sounded in his ears. Long and rasping, darker than anything he’d ever heard from his old friend before. Erik felt the rumbles of it through the lap under him. When Sylvando finally settled, he breathed out, “Cute.”

Erik hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten not to relax when the seismic _smack_ lit a fire of pain throughout his body.

He cried out loudly, head snapping up to the limits of what Sylvando’s grip would allow. “ _Ow!”_ He shouted when Sylvando hit him _again_ , and then _again_ , “Sylv, st--!”

He bit down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. He’d almost said it, he’d almost said stop, but he didn’t want to, he still didn’t want to. He couldn’t keep a thought straight in his head right now but he knew he didn’t truly want this to stop. He just didn’t know how much longer he could possibly keep going.

Sylvando hummed inquisitively at him, pausing for the moment. With the hand on his neck, Erik felt his thumb brush gently against his skin, a very small act of soothing.

He was waiting for Erik to say anything, and Erik didn’t. He just kept panting and wondering what kind of demon was holding his usual sense of dignity hostage.

Regardless of the answer, he sealed his own fate. The next hit wasn’t as bad as the predecessors, but it still had Erik blinking rapidly. A pause for consideration, and then the next one was _worse_. Erik’s mouth hung open, like the pain had wiped his memory of how to vocalize. Only a cracking, broken sort of sound escaped him.

The next couple of hits finally broke several dams-- including ones Erik hadn’t even know he was holding up, his swimming vision finally spilling into tears. Once he started crying, it took over his whole body, racking his shoulders and lungs. Even his breathing sounded wet now, and when he spoke he sounded absolutely at his limit even to his own ears-- “ _Please,_ p-please, Sylv I-- I can’t. I can’t I can’t.”

He buried his head into the couch, trying to hold his breath to keep from hiccuping. He hadn’t even really meant to say it. He hadn’t meant to essentially say stop. It had just felt good to plead too, somehow. Was he going insane?

A heavy silence settled over the air. Erik flinched when he felt a touch on his burning cheek, but Sylvando’s hand was only soothing him gently again. It felt good bare. It felt amazing. The pain was still there, but it melted under the almost overwhelming heat of Sylvando’s insistent palm. The pain and pleasure complimented each other somehow. He really was going insane.

“Can you take five more for me?” Sylvando asked him.

Erik froze. His mind went utterly blank for a full second.

“Erik.” It sounded more gentle. “I trust you to make the best decision.”

Oh. Yes, he understood. Yes. He could say no. No. _Oh,_ no, he wasn’t going to. He heard Sylvando repeat the question.

“Okay, Sylv,” came his pathetic sniffle, muffled by the cushion.

“Are you sure, dear?”

Erik nodded. It smeared his tears into the cushion, but he didn’t care about what a mess he was making anymore.

“I see... in that case, I want you to count them. You can do that, can’t you, my little hardened criminal?”

The blow came unexpectedly fast, punching the air from Erik’s lungs. He writhed against Sylvando’s lap, legs rubbing together, hands clawing at the couch like an animal. “One,” he coughed wetly.

“Very good.” Sylvando petted somewhere other than his ass for the first time, on the small of his back. He stroked from the base of Erik’s neck all the way to where his tail would be if he was really a pet animal. “Are you ready for the next one?”

A simple nod wasn’t enough for Sylvando. He prodded, “I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Uh-huh,” Erik forced out.

“Come again?”

“M’ready, Sylv,” he pleaded.

“Good,” came the low rumble. “Very good.” It struck Erik like a bolt of white-hot lightning, leaving him reeling and feeling like the ends of his nerves were singed.

“ _Tt--! Two_. Two.”

The next one crashed into him and made him rethink whether he could really do this. Erik shouted into the couch, clenched fist banging on the cushion with pathetically muffled thuds.

“ _I ca--”_ He swallowed it down, squeezing his eyes shut. He gasped, “Three--” then twisted as another blow devastated him immediately after. “ _Aaah!”_

He gasped, crying, shuddering apart, “Sy-y-ylv...”

The hand on his scruff shook him a little, insistingly. He somehow got out through his sobs, “Fuh-- four.”

He cried more openly that he ever had in his entire life. He’d never cried half as hard even when he’d been beaten close to death by one of the crueler Vikings in a drunken rage. He didn’t have the presence of mind to even feel ashamed of himself.

The last blow came, and Erik just took it, he just kept crying. He wasn’t made to count it. Sylvando just fixed his clothes for him as painlessly as he possibly could and scooped him up into his arms.

“Perfect, darling, you were perfect.” Erik felt kisses land all over his face. His gross, snotty, blotchy red face. “You amaze me. I still can’t believe how gorgeous you are.”

Erik reached shaking hands up to Sylvando’s shoulders, and tried to tug himself closer. Sylvando got the hint and pulled him in for a hug just short of crushing, and firmly the most secure embrace Erik has ever felt. Erik buried his face in Sylvando’s neck and breathed in, trying to use the scent to calm himself.

The tree-trunk arms around him felt amazing. The large hand rubbing between his shoulder blades did, too.

“Oh, dear.”  Sylvando’s hand then came up to stroke affectionately at his hair. It was like he couldn’t decide where to pet. Erik could absolutely not care less, as long as he didn’t stop.

“Oh, dear,” Sylvando repeated, quieter this time. “I think I’ve done something awful.”

His grip around Erik, if possible, tightened. “I think I’ve done something unforgivable to you. Oh, Erik...”

“Whaddayou...” Erik wheezed, but his chest physically couldn’t expand enough to finish. He tapped on Sylvando’s back insistingly. Once the hydraulic press on his lungs eased up, he managed to sit back enough in Sylvando’s embrace to look him in the eye. He coughed, and it sounded a bit less like a death rattle this time when he asked, “What do you mean, you’ve done something unforgivable?”

Sylvando looked... like he might be about to cry. Alarms went off in Erik’s head. “I got carried away,” Sylvando confessed miserably. “I shouldn’t have gone that far with you, not on your first time. I should have discussed it with you beforehand. It was unforgivable for me to lose control with you like that. Not to be crass, but you looked and sounded absolutely delicious. But that doesn’t make it alright!”

“Woah, hey.” Erik’s voice was hushed. He wiped his own face on his sleeve. “Look, I’m fine, okay? Already stopped crying. So don’t you start.”

Sylvando sighed heavily. “I didn’t take very good care of you at all, Erik.”

“Hey, I’m made of some pretty tough stuff, alright? I know I don’t look like it, but.” He tried to give a confidant grin-- he knew it just looked horribly shaky from the way it felt and from the way Sylvando’s concerned frown deepened.

“You are such a good, sweet boy,” Sylvando told him, and hugged him close again.

Erik blinked, then leaned his head against him. “You’re not bad yourself, Sylv,” he said softly.

 

* * *

 

A gasp. “Darling, I just remembered. I _completely_ forgot to mention I’ve got a small stable behind the house, just in case you have any interest in horseback riding. We can even go tonight if you like.”

Erik swiped the soap bubbles out of his eyes and turned around, staring over his shoulder at Sylvando with open horror. “Y’know, sometimes I genuinely can’t tell if you’re kidding, and it scares me.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Sylvando pouted.

It was a little uncomfortable sitting even on the frictionless bottom of a tub filled with warm, soothing water. Riding a horse sounded like a fate worse than death right now.

“Just... nevermind.” Erik faced forward again, and the fingers returned to carding through his hair, working in pleasant-smelling conditioner. He felt a thumb rubbing into the base of his neck, and sighed, unable to help but go boneless.

He felt Sylvando’s firm hand on his neck gently pushing, and he allowed his head to be tipped forward until it was completely submerged underwater, closing his eyes and holding his breath and keeping calmly compliant as the suds were rinsed out of his hair.

He was pulled back up soon, just as gently. Out of instinct, Erik shook the water out of his hair-- a huge mistake, he remembered a split second too late.

“Sorry!” He whipped around to stare at Sylvando. “I didn’t mean to--!”

Sylvando’s white shirt, clean as the sun-bleached terraces of Costa Valor, sleeves folded conscientiously to his elbows, was soaked.

His shoulders were shaking with laughter. “Bad dog,” he said.

“Sorry... about your shirt...”

“Darling, when I told you I was going to punish you for every little thing, it was only dirty talk.” Sylvando flirtatiously swiped the air like a cat.

Seeing that Sylvando really seemed unbothered, Erik’s anxiety uncoiled. He crossed his arms on the edge of the ornate tub, propping his chin on them and staring at Sylvando with sudden wistfulness. “Man,” he sighed. “It would’ve been convenient to have you around ten years ago. Where were you, huh?”

“Ten years ago?” Sylvando considered. “I was ten years into being a wandering wonder, I think.”

Erik blinked. “Wait. So how old were you when you left home to join the circus?”

Sylvando hummed cheerfully at him.

“How old _are_ you, Sylvando?”

Sylvando just kept looking at him with twinkling eyes. Erik poked further, “What? Twenty-two?”

Sylvando gave him nothing to go off of. “...Twenty-eight?”

He tried to spark a reaction of any kind with preposterous wild guessing. “Forty? Fifty?” But Sylvando was a smiling, humming, impenetrable fortress.

“Tell you what, handsome.” Sylvando finally said after he’d given up. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Uh,” Erik said. “...I don’t know.”

Sylvando blinked at him, astonished. Shrugging his shoulders, Erik continued, “I never knew. It was just one of those things.”

“One of those things,” Sylvando parroted. The emotion in his face and voice were difficult to place. Then it was gone, whatever it was, replaced by a mock sympathetic smile. “That’s too bad! Looks like I can’t tell you after all.” He sprung fluidly to his feet, heading for the towel rack.

“Aw, c’mon,” Erik whined at his back. “That’s not fair. Let’s settle it some other way, like a bet or something. Let’s horse race for it,” he said, then added, wincing, “...tomorrow.”

Sylvando hummed, turning around holding one of the fluffiest towels he’d ever seen. He held his hand out to lead Erik out of the tub, telling him warmly, “Oh, darling, how could I say no to you?”

**Author's Note:**

> for ronnie <3


End file.
